


The Man, the Moniker, and the Means

by ImBadWithWords



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Gen, Memory Loss, Past Brainwashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7629916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBadWithWords/pseuds/ImBadWithWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers dies. Steve dies and all Bucky knows is that he blames Iron Man. But he never meant to hurt Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man, the Moniker, and the Means

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous prompt: Angsty headcanon: Because of the "chair" we see in Winter Soldier, after Bucky reforms in Civil War (according to the trailer) and when he fights Tony (or Rhodey) and their armor sparks out because he's ripped into the wiring, he has a momentay panic that he just ripped away their "memories" like what was done to him and it's the only reason he stops fighting them after Steve dies in the station. (Part 2) And he just shoves them away and runs to a safe house. And returns when he sees them on the news but spys on them after until he’s 100% sure that he didn’t do that to someone else, that he’s not Hydra. He stops only once he’s certain that they aren’t “programmed” like he was. And I guess this is an AU Headcanon now. Oops
> 
> I wrote this before Civil War came out so ignore how it doesn't fit with the movie At All ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Barnes was no stranger to blood. Fear, though—because the ache in his chest at the sight of Steve unmoving in a growing pile of _red_ had to be fear—was maybe not new, but it definitely wasn’t familiar. 

“C’mon, Stevie, shake it off,” Barnes heard himself say, his own voice distant and shaky. He gripped at Steve’s shoulders, hands moving to cup his neck, desperately ignoring the lack of a pulse under his fingertips. The Asset knew Death—it knew the feeling of- of _completeness_ than came with an executed kill, a fulfilled mission. Barnes felt hollow, as if it were _his_ blood staining the concrete floor of the station, _his_ life leeching from his limbs, leaving him impossibly heavy and yet weightless. This couldn’t be Death. Unless it was his own.

_“Cease fire, cease fire!”_ The metallic voice of Iron Man cut through the sounds of fighting. What had seconds ago been a mess of shouting and gunfire died down to the occasional groan of pain. Hushed voices added to the background as people caught sight of Bucky Barnes kneeling over the body of Captain America. 

“Steve!” came a hoarse cry. Barnes looked up to see Sam Wilson push past an enemy combatant to fall at Steve’s side. Falcon’s hands hovered over the bullet wound next to Steve’s heart. “Steve— Steve, you can’t be dead, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, _wake up,_ man, _please—“_ Wilson’s voice broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head back and forth, shoulders trembling. “Not like this, man. You can’t go out like this.”

“Sam,” Barnes croaked. The other man turned his head to look, but his eyes flicked over Barnes’s shoulder. Barnes tore his eyes away from Steve—the white star on his chest no longer white—to glance behind him. Iron Man stood there, looming. The blankness of his metal face stirred something within Barnes. He rose. 

“This is your fault.” His voice was hard, his posture stiff, his hands clenched into fists so tight his left arm could be heard whirring. Iron Man did not move, but he sounded overwhelmed when he spoke.

“The—the order was to subdue, not—not this.”

“This is _your_ fault,” Barnes repeated. Every muscle in his body was coiled so tight they could snap. He took a step forward. The blood pounding in his ears was so loud he almost didn’t hear the sound of a dozen trained spoilers raise their rifles. He didn’t care. “You killed Steve.”

Barnes lunged.

His metal fist connected with Iron Man’s torso before the other could react. The glass over the arc reactor shattered, Iron Man fell to the ground. Barnes rained blow after blow with both fists, ignoring the pain flaring in this right hand, ignoring Iron Man’s shouts. There was yelling behind him, but Barnes didn’t care; he wanted to damage, he wanted to _hurt._ This man had _killed_ Stevie. He wasn’t walking away. 

Iron Man continued to shout. Barnes didn’t know what he was saying, but he wanted him to _shut up._ He pounded Iron Man’s face, his left hand denting the faceplate again and again and again until finally he stopped speaking. Barnes’s metal fingers found the joints of the plate and he twisted, sparks flying and singeing his skin, tearing away the metal and revealing the bastard, the soon-to-be- _dead_ bastard, who had taken Stevie—

Iron Man’s— no, _Stark’s_ eyes were glazed over, unfocused and confused. Barnes froze. No. No, no, nonononono, he couldn’t have— he couldn’t have, but Stark’s breathing was fast and too shallow and Barnes found his own chest heaving with panicked breaths. He staggered to his feet. He looked around, took in the shocked faces of the soldiers and heroes encircling him, and bolted. Shoving people out of the way he sprinted toward the station’s exit, ignoring Sam’s calls behind him, ignoring the blood drying on his human hand, just running, running, running from the reminders of both his past and future. 

 

_________________________

He didn’t know how he got back to New York, but the streets of Brooklyn, changed as they were, were a sort of comfort. Barnes found an unoccupied apartment building that’s rooms weren’t on the market yet. Fourteen hours after the events in the station he got the chance to sit down and process what had happened.

Steve was— God, Steve was gone. Barnes couldn’t wrap his head around it. The reckless punk had always managed to find some way back to his side, his memories, scrambled as they were, agreed on that. Barnes remembered going to war without Steve, and fighting in it with him. He remembered losing him, or being lost, one or the other, only to have Steve recognize him on the bridge seventy goddamn years later. Even as he struggled to cope with everything HYDRA had done to him, Steve had stuck by his side, no mater how fucked up Barnes was. But he was gone. And while plenty were allowed to cheat Death once, Barnes included, not even Steve Rogers got a third chance. 

He couldn’t feel the same rage he had felt back at the station. All he could feel were his achey muscles and tired feet. When he thought of his anger, of his actions, he thought he would throw up. Stark’s face, the emptiness in his gaze, haunted Barnes whenever he closed his eyes. He’d seen the same expression far too many times in his own reflection. After the chair, after a nightmare, after the Asset had completed a mission and had no further purpose. Barnes didn’t fully understand Iron Man; he knew the metal suit was connected to Stark, and he knew Stark had some control over it, but he couldn’t tell where Tony Stark ended and Iron Man began. He was terrified that by destroying Iron Man, he had taken a part of Stark as well. 

Barnes couldn’t help but see the parallel; HYDRA had taken a part of Bucky Barnes, the part that made him an excellent marksman and soldier, and had destroyed the rest of him in the process. Had Stark become the shell the Asset had been? Had Barnes made him that way?

Guilt—unfortunately one of the feelings he had become accustomed to since breaking from HYDRA’s control—settled heavy around his frame. He made no effort to push it away. If the guilt was truly his, then he deserved to feel it. 

Eventually, Barnes gave in to other needs besides feeling. He left the apartment building to find somewhere to eat, mindful of the fact that all he had were a few of crumbled bills in the pocket of his jeans. He vaguely remembered feeling rich the last time he’d had such money, but he didn’t think the bills would stretch as far in the present day as hey did in his memory. There was a decent-looking cafe not far from his safe(ish) house. He bought a ham and cheese sandwich with plenty of both and a bottle of water and took a seat near the back of the little building. He began to eat, calmed somewhat by the gentle chatter of the other customers. The walls, a light yellow were bathed in sunlight from the big windows next to the door. The scent of fresh coffee swirled over the tables. 

A news story on the television on the wall caught his attention.

_“Tony Stark returns to New York today after a reported clash with Captain America in Europe,”_ a young news anchor said, her face suitably serious, though Barnes could tell she was not feeling as somber as she looked. _“For months now the two heroes have been on opposite sides of a legal bill proposing government supervision and control of groups such as the Avengers, but this is the first time the issue has apparently come to blows. Neither Stark nor Rogers—or a representative for either—have come forward to make an official statement regarding the altercation. The results of this incident are not yet known. Stark, however, talked briefly with reporters after landing in JFK airport earlier this morning.”_ The TV cut to shaky footage of Stark as he strode past a herd of people attempting to shove cameras and microphones in his face despite bodyguards’ efforts to keep them back.

_“Mr. Stark!”_ one man yelled, _“Can you comment on the rumors that you and Captain America fought in Germany late yesterday?”_

_“I certainly_ could _comment, if I choose to, but this is me, choosing not to,”_ Stark responded, not looking at the reporter. 

_“Can you answer for the bruising on your face, then, Mr. Stark?”_ someone else asked as she gestured with her tape recorder at the mottled black and blue of Stark’s jaw. 

“ _I thought we would have learned that asking questions in that format isn’t going to get you very far.”_ He rolled his eyes. _“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m kind of a superhero. Iron Man and the Avengers and all that jazz. I save the world pretty much every other week and occasionally that means getting roughed up a bit. All part of the job.”_ One of Stark’s guards stepped in front of the camera as the man dipped into a waiting car and the TV cut back to the anchor. She wrapped up the story and moved on to the next bit of news, but Barnes’s attention had already drifted.

Stark seemed— _fine._ Well, maybe fine wasn’t quite the right word, but at the very least he didn’t seem like the blank figure Barnes had feared he’d turned the man into. But Barnes had seen the suit spark and shudder under his fists, heard Stark’s shouts, witnesses the emptiness on his face when he ripped the faceplate off. If the suit was anything like the chair, Stark should essentially be a dead man standing. Unless it wasn’t like the chair…?

Barnes stood and left the cafe, nodding to the cashier who smiled at him as he opened the door. He walked for a while, eventually finding a library. He stood in front of its huge, inviting windows and walked through the automatic doors.

The library was quiet, and almost empty. He glanced around before seeing a row of computers lining one wall and he made his way over, sitting down in a chair close to the building’s other exit. He hesitated, unsure for a moment _how_ he was supposed to do what he intended, then just clicked on the icon marked “Google Chrome”. An internet tab popped up. Barnes typed slowly into the search bar, fingers unused to the action. He pressed enter and within moments there were millions of results for _“tony stark”._

Barnes clicked on the first non-sponsored link, the man’s Wikipedia page. He glanced over the information. Most of it was not new to him. He had done research on Stark before, when it seemed they would be at odds over the Sokovia Accords. He hadn’t wanted to view the billionaire as another mission, but it had seemed reckless not to gain intel on a potential enemy. Not that much of it had helped at all. Steve was still dead, wasn’t he?

It was when the article turned to the topic of Iron Man that Barnes took interest again. The section wasn’t very detailed—understandable seeing as Stark was pretty protective of his suit. But it did include the armor’s origin. Stark had built his original suit to escape captivity in Afghanistan, only to later improve on his design again and again in his efforts to protect the world. Barnes read the passage over, trying to understand. Iron Man was a part of Stark, yes—the man had said that himself on multiple occasions, the article stated—but it was also a _tool,_ a _means_. The suit was simply that—a suit. Stark had made himself into Iron Man. He _was_ Iron Man. The suit was not Iron Man.

Barnes left the library shortly after that, returning to the unfinished apartment building. Somehow the thoughts swirling around his head had physical weight and he felt exhausted when he finally got the chance to sit down with his back against a bare wall. Barnes struggled to sort everything into a linear understanding.

He wished he could write everything down, make it physical, tangible, stop it from floating away in his mind, but he didn’t have anything to write on. He’d kept notebooks with him before, filled with bits and pieces of memories he’d managed to wrangle onto paper before they became too vague, but he’d left his backpack in—in whatever country Steve had died in. Barnes could’t remember where they’d ended up. Somewhere cold.

Shaking his head, Barnes tilted his face toward the ceiling and closed his eyes. His arms rested on his bent knees, his feet slightly apart. Sun dripped onto his skin through the windows. The room was quiet. Peaceful. Barnes was glad. 

If the suit wasn’t Iron Man (and therefore not Stark), and Barnes had only damaged the suit, then he hadn’t damaged Stark. He hadn’t—hadn’t wiped him. Hadn’t made him like the Asset.

And didn’t thinking of the Asset open a whole other can of worms. If Stark had three parts—the man, the moniker, and the means—could the same be said for Barnes? If Barnes thought of himself as the man (though he questioned if there was enough of him left to be one), what about the other two? Was the moniker the Soldier, a name given to the ghost whispered of by figures in the shadows? Or was it the Asset, the instrument of HYDRA, the shaper of history through bullets? Was his means the Soldier’s skill set and state of mind or the Asset’s blank slate, its willingness to obey, to follow through without question? Barnes didn’t know. He didn’t know if it was his place to decide. 

 

_________________________

 

Tony Stark was mentioned several times in the news in the three days following the report Barnes had watched in the cafe, but none of it stood out. There were no reports of strange behavior, no mentions of the man seemingly going off the rails. Barnes began to allow himself to believe he hadn’t broken Stark.

He visited the cafe daily to get lunch and watch the news. When he wasn’t there, he was often in the library checking articles for updates, though there was rarely any new or worrying information. Barnes was surprised by the lack of news on _him_ as well. He’d expected his face to be plastered across screens, urging people to report any sighting of the dangerous fugitive. There’d been nothing before the station, as Barnes’s survival was currently secret, but now that Steve was gone, Stark should be thinking there was nothing holding Barnes back from going on the war path. Maybe that was the reason behind the media blackout—protect the public. He had no plans to hurt civilians. He didn’t have plans to hurt anyone, really. There wasn’t anyone left to fight for.

On his third day in Brooklyn, Barnes heard news that Stark was calling a press conference. He went to the cafe a little late than he usually did and asked the cashier to change the channel from a basketball game to the news as he paid. He settled into his usual table near the rear, leaning back with his sandwich in hand. A cup of coffee—black with two sugars—was cooling on the table.

The news anchor introduced the conference with almost exactly the same spiel she had given when reporting Stark’s return to New York. The television cut to a shot of a podium on a stage in front of Avengers Tower. Or maybe it was Stark Tower. Steve had mused that with the Avengers so divided, maybe Stark wasn’t feeling the name anymore.

A number of people stood toward the back of the stage. Barnes recognized several; Pepper Potts, Stark Industries’ CEO; Colonel James Rhodes, a decorate military official and close friend of Stark’s; and Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, a former SHIELD agent and good friend of Steve’s.

Tony Stark strode onto the stage. He seemed no less confident than usual, but the spring was gone from his step. He kept his gaze lowered until he reached the podium, when he looked up and stared hard at the gathered crowd. Stark stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dark suit then immediately took them out again, placing them on the podium. He cleared his throat.

_“Three days ago I was in Germany,”_ he said, _“tracking a wanted fugitive suspected to have hand a hand in the incident at the Triskelion in Washington, D.C. early last year that resulted in enormous loss of life and the leak of sensitive SHIELD files.”_ Barnes pulled on the bill of his baseball cap, bringing it lower over his face. He gripped his coffee mug tightly. 

_“A special ops. team, including myself and Colonel James Rhodes, also known as War Machine, found the fugitive in a station along with several individuals believed to have aided this man in his efforts to evade capture.”_ Stark paused. He pursed his lips, scanning the faces of the reporters watching him. _“These individuals included members of the Avengers, namely Falcon and Captain America.”_ There was a rush of murmurs among the crowd and other customers in the cafe began to talk excitedly. The noise died down as Stark continued to speak. 

_“The Avengers have for a while now been divided on opposite sides on the Sokovia Accords. I pushed for greater government involvement in programs such as the Avengers Initiative, while Cap argued that putting such power in the hands of bureaucrats would lead to wide-spread corruption, as was the case with SHIELD._

_“The fugitive I mentioned was at the core of this issue, at least for Captain America. He was willing to resort to physical means to protect this man. I was willing to do the same to arrest him. Our military team met with the Captain’s group in the station and an altercation broke out. Shots were fired. People on both sides were injured. Including—“_ Stark stopped. Barnes wondered if he had imagined his voice breaking. Stark dropped his eyes. He drew a deep breath and then stared out into the crowd, mouth a grim line.

_“On February 27th, at roughly 9:40 PM local time, Captain Steve Rogers died—“_ The rest of his sentence was drowned out in a sudden uproar. People in the cafe gasped, one man dropping his mug, shattering it. Barnes tore his eyes away from the TV. The cashier had a hand over her mouth, eyes filling with tears. She leaned on the counter and took a shaky breath. Barnes could relate.

Whispers danced around the cafe. No one seemed willing to say the news aloud. Barnes flexed his metal arm and turned back to the conference when Stark’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd. 

_“It shouldn’t have taken Steve’s death for us to pull our heads out of our asses, but that’s where we stand.”_ One hand was clenched in a fist at Stark’s side. _“Over the next several months, over the next few_ years _if that’s what it takes, the Sokovia Accords will be renegotiated. The way it stands now, this bill will cost more lives than it will ever save. This isn’t the way to peace. This isn’t the way to anything but the graves of good people.”_

He stepped back. His eyes were widened slightly, like he was shocked by the words out of his own mouth. Turning abruptly, Stark stalked off the stage, followed closely by Rhodes and Potts. A woman turned to address the crowd, but Barnes had heard enough. He left, unnoticed by the patrons grieving a man they had never met.

 

_________________________

 

Talking with Tony Stark turned out to be easier than Barnes expected; he still had access from when Steve had brought him to stay, before things had turned messy. Guess Stark had had other things on his mind.

Barnes was able to take the elevator straight to the common floor several hours after the press conference, when most of the reporters had cleared away. On the short ride up, he tried to think of what he wanted to say, but truth be told, he had no idea why he wanted to speak with Stark. Maybe he wanted to be a part of the Sokovia negotiations. Maybe he was sick of running. Maybe he just wanted someone who missed Steve too.

The doors slid open with a gentle _ding._ Five figured seated on the couches turned his way and then sprang to their feet. Col. Rhodes moved in front of Stark. Romanoff dropped a hand to her hip, where she likely was packing. Banner had an arm held up to cover a teenage boy Barnes didn’t recognize, whispering, “Peter, stay back.” The kid’s hands were at his sides, clenched but shaking.

“Easy, Barnes,” Rhodes said. He narrowed his eyes and straightened his shoulders.

“I- I’m not—“ Barnes tried. He glanced over at Stark, who look almost _resigned._ “I just want to talk.”

“About?” Romanoff cut in before Stark could speak.

“The Accords,” Barnes responded, but realized it wasn’t quite true. “Steve.”

Romanoff’s shoulders softened and she pressed her lips together. She moved forward, closer to Barnes. “Sam’s bringing him home now.”

Barnes nodded. “He’s a good guy. Good friend.”

“Yeah, he is,” Romanoff agreed. Banner shifted, but Barnes resisted the impulse to turn his attention to him. “So was Steve. We— We all miss him. It shouldn’t have happened like that.” Barnes scoffed, lips twitching.

“I always figured he’d meet his end jumping out a plane without a parachute. _Again,_ ” he said. Romanoff laughed, low and sad, but with a smile on her face. Out of the corner of his eye Barnes saw Stark dip his head with a grin.

“Always doin’ stupid shit,” he continued. “Used to pick fights with guys twice his size. Couldn’t drive worth anythin’ but he’d get behind the wheel of a truck and just go full speed toward enemy lines. Drive until he hit something. God, it’s a wonder he didn’t die back in the war.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Stark pushed around Rhodes and stuck his hand out to Barnes.

“We call it a truce? Figure this out together?” The engineer looked Barnes dead in the eye with an expression that could only be described as _hope_. Barnes took his hand and shook it.

 

Steve’s funeral was held the following week. Thousands of people came to pay their respects and thank America’s hero. There was a gravestone put up in Arlington and a memorial open to the public, but a secret service was held in a small cemetery in Brooklyn. Barnes and Stark stood next to each other as their friend was lowered into the earth.


End file.
